Best Funeral Song Poems
A murder of crows screech my funeral song,
disturbing the eerie silence that surrounds.
Heartless hands have left scars etched into my crumbling bark,
as bleeding sap drips upon ivory sands,
which fail to comfort the aches of my collapsed torso.
I once ascended under sapphire skies,
as golden rays adorned my emerald lush leaves,
but now I've descended into dismal decay,
realising humanity has no use for me -
offering me as a sacrifice to toxic tides.
I can still remember the sound of crashing to the ground,
as men with axes laughed at the glory of my demise,
allowing me to slowly sink toward the abyss of nothingness,
now I'm helpless as ripples of regret carry me into the sea.
Alone and abandoned, above me is only dreary darkness.
I'm barely breathing, listening to careless whispering waves,
smashing against my soaked motionless trunk,
drowning me deeper in self deprecation.
Frigid branches begin to crumble and snap,
as I slumber cradling echoes of worthlessness
her lips quiver
without making a sound...
funeral song
© kashinath karmakar 2012
====================
Placement:1st ;(March 2012)
Contest:Strictly a Stickler for Strictness (haiku)
Sponsor:Charles Henderson
The sea roars as it breathes
in and out, to rise, in the tides,
along the shores of all the seas
as one, moving where the moon guides.
Waters lapping the isles tiny beach,
gently touching her from beneath,
seeking the mountain out of reach,
among rocks like jagged teeth.
On the water little rafts float,
above the sacred, ancient beds.
Down, down they go with plunging stroke,
past the coral of blues and reds.
On the floor a searchers leg is hung.
Working they fail to set him free.
That night, a funeral song is sung
for the one who now breathes with the sea.
Therewithal, profluent life ettles it's while.
Thitherward, from Death's bleak campanile
Grim antiphonals serenade.
A capriccio, the slashing swipe of the reaper's scythe
will serenade.
Stringent Death forthwith anoints the mithridate to
Life's cantankerous and rankling ado
Hither now come, anon recondite Azrael, neither protend
nor annex this throttled contretemps.
The antiphonal of the reaper's cavalier scythe
Shall now serenade.
Awhirl, like kerfs demarcated
Years, bollixed, muzzy and brattled
shall holus-bolus expire.
No retaliation to death's gloomy surcease
No ingenious riposte to the reaper's final cleave.
Bootless now to don the amulets,
squeeze the jujus,
Kiss the talismans,
clutch the periapts or
Attire in steely cataphract.
The serenading of the reaper's scythe,
it's efficacy shall blithely cleave.
Bedim mine eyes from life's assailing
Bedim mine eyes from life's poltroonery
Vocabulary: barghest-a goblin fabled to portend misfortune; monody-funeral song;
antiphonal-chant; protend-to protract in time/lengthen; riposte-n. in fencing, a quick
return/thrust; brattle-v.-to make rattling or clattering noises;
cavalier-supercillious/disdainful/haughty; muzzy-hazy; attaint-v. to condemn; rankle-to
give pain/nettle/gnaw; contretemps-untoward accident/hitch; throttle-v.to
choke/suffocate/strangle/stiffle; bollix-v.-to bungle or botch; holus-bolus-adv.-all at
once/altoghter; mithridate-antidote against poison; cataphract-suit of armor for the
whole body; poltroonery-n. cowardice; a capriccio-musical piece characterized by
improvisation; ettle-to intend/to prepare; campanile-free standing bell tower; kerf-a
groove or notch
Azrael-the angel that helps souls from living to enter the afterlife; recondite-not
easily understood/abstruce;
periapt-a charm worn to ward of evil; juju-object believed to contain magical powers;
contretemps-disruptive unforeseen event; protend-to hold out or stretch forth
This is a song by Rascal Flatts that I have requested to
be played at my funeral in the very near future.
It must have been in a place so dark,you couldn't see the light,
reaching for you through that stormy cloud.Now here we are gathered
in our little home town,this can't be the way you meant to draw a crowd.
(chorus) Oh why,that's what I keep asking,was there anything I could have
said or done.Oh I had no clue you were masking,a troubled soul,
GOD only knows,what went wrong,and why you would leave the
stage in the middle of a song.
Now in my mind I keep you frozen as a seventeen year old,rounding third
to score the winning run.You always played with passion no matter what
the game,when you took the stage you shinned just like the sun.
(CHORUS)
Now the oak trees are swaying in the early autumn breeze,a bolt of sun is
shinning on my face.The tangled thoughts I hear,a mockingbird sings,this
world really ain't that bad a place.
Oh why,there's no comprehending,but who am I to try to judge
or explain.Oh but I do have one burning question?Who told you
life,wasn't worth the fight,they were wrong,they lied,now your
gone,and we cried,cause it's not like you to walk away in the
middle of a song.Your beautiful song.
Song by Rascal Flatts
Soldier boy, oh soldier boy
Why don't you hide up those tears?
Hold in your mind those nail- biting fears
March till you drop, sing the marching song
Even though, for home you heart it does long
Don't cry no don't cry
Always care to try
Hold up your head
For death cannot tread
Oh soldier boy, oh soldier boy
Why don't you hide up those tears
For this night your safe, soften those fears
Lay down so quiet and hum your wholesome song
Hum how much for home your heart does long
Don't cry no don't cry
Always care to try
Hold up your head
For death cannot tread
Now soldier boy, now soldier boy
Could this be the morn when death does appear?
And I know it will be hard to hide up that fear
Don't let him in, it's just the funeral song
Pretty soon now for home, your heart will not long
You will not cry, oh do not cry
For you always cared to try
Soldier boy hold up that head
For now you layed on eternities bed
Funeral song put us as a wedding photographer
Photos making popane us in that Golden October
And 40 nights, like on top of them we counted some chronograph
Swirled snowflakes of care under the waltzes in your head
Who said it had to be this way and such terms
But it has long been supposed that the dead in forty days funeral service
Bad weather... what then in December there was bad weather
And at the heart of a Blizzard and I wanted to rant and rave
Nine months is not a period of time, said so himself Vysotsky
Just how much for those nine years I had to endure
And in July, when the land all in the thrall of nature
We had love, that was, to begin to serve a panikhida
And then the anniversary... just some kind of fairy tale, as if about demons
Led, whirled family home our demonic Blizzard
And you know, I never particularly believed
But love is lost, I do not know what to think sometimes
And now anniversary I love and feasts meet
Everything's just and date would like, but hard to forget
Because love is March, and the Lord in all the world revives
But the funeral feast - September... in September I have to re-live
I'm looking for, I'm looking to kind some sort of wizard
Able from past years this song somehow remove and erase
That included us once the drunk at the wedding photographer
I forgot about everything... and be able hymn to love to sing again
19.08.14 AKC
© Copyright: Konstantin Achapowski, 2014
The certificate of publication No. 114081801379
A black cloud bleating
Over a trembling tree top
Calls swallows to play.
2
Wet thunder drums light
On the sizzled skin of air
My lungs beat like wings
3
This is September
Neptune's children play with glee
On earth's anxiety
4
Africa's revenge
Is full of hot air driving
The sea to black rage
5
The winds come dancing
The funeral song of trees
Silenced in the clouds
6
The storm turns its eye
Into the sun's white vortex
And shed some black tears
7
A lone swallow flies
Skipping spindles of loud rain
Etched upon my eyes.
They were invincible
whenever they’re onstage:
piano on the lead
with violin
as his accompaniment.
They toured the cities,
the parks as well;
soft harmonies they played
that all, including men
went envying them—
violin had felt betrayal
from her own bow.
It snapped her strings;
made it sever—
leaving piano out of tune.
Despite his downfall,
piano persisted performing
on stage, but alone—
playing his wife’s
funeral song.
child fed on the sap of rotting wounds
body, bones clad in thin black skin
opaque eyes,pearly beads on
dead nearve-string.
mind maddened by hunger
bursts pearly fish-eyeballs
into floods of stale tears,
as worm-infersted faty thighs
squeek funeral song.
lulaby for another sick featus.
The remnants of what we built don't wash away with the seasonal rain;
They sit like heavy clay at the bottom of a dried-up borehole.
Perhaps our calendar together was short, a brief lease on happiness,
A whispered contract written on water, a fleeting relief from the wind.
We used to dance with heavy words until the midnight cold broke,
Believing we could reclaim a connection the city had already priced out.
With every stride across the unpaved roads, our bond tried to take flight,
A stubborn fire we fed with dry wood, burning too bright to last.
Your laughter used to echo off the corrugated roofs, a sharp melody,
A local rhythm that our solitary souls could never quite match.
But like the dust kicked up by a passing vehicle, our time went astray,
Leaving a heavy silence behind, a funeral song for a love we couldn't budget.
Yet I am not wandering blindly through this psychological wreckage.
I bring my heavy chest back to the Kgotla of my mind, finding peace with the Creator.
I recite the heavy verses of the old people, the stories they never put in textbooks,
Sifting through lands that the maps forgot, where love once had a name.
I will return to the edge of the rapids for the echoes of my final verse,
Not as a broken man, but burning softly like a lantern in Kachikau nights.
Whether the community notices my footprint or not,
I will come and go,Leaving behind these blunt whispers of what it means to survive the frost.
In the thick stillness of the Chobe night, when the engines finally stop,
I will deposit my secrets into the sand, knowing love remains an unpayable debt
A quiet, unyielding asset that even the coldest winter cannot repossess.
THE PAIN, THE CRIES, THE TRUTH,
THE LIES, PERPETUAL BLIS GONE AMISS:
HOPE LOST THEN RECOVERED.
SMALL DREAMS; NOW SMOTHERED, MEANING-
LESS FAITH BECOMES WRECKLESS HATE.
PAID FOR SINS NOT MY OWN,
DEBT GROWS DEEPER THAN THE UNKNOWN.
SEAS OF EUPHORIC VISIONS FLASH
BEFORE MY EYES.
THE JURY'S VERDICT CAME WITHOUT DELIBERATION;
NO TRIAL.
"GUILTY", UNANAMOUS DECISION.
DOWNWARD SPIRAL BEGINS AGAIN, REACHING
FOR THE PRESCRIBED STRENGTH; JUST TO MAKE
IT ONE MORE DAY.
RUSHED INTO REALITY, MY SPIRIT SOARS
WITH DUALITY.
ONE SIDE GOOD, CLEAN, WHOLESOME FUN.
ANOTHER SIDE CONSUMED BBY THE HATRED
CAUSED AND DONE.
WHICH SIDE SHALL IT BE, WHAT
SHALL I SEE, WHERE WILL I HIDE, WHO
CAN SEE PAST THE LIES, WHEN CAN I BREATHE.
HOW WILL I RECOVER, WHO WILL
CATCH ME WHEN I FALL OFF THIS
ROLLERCOASTER.
ALL THE TIME, NEVER NEW; SAME-OLD, SAME-OLD, HIDDEN IN TRUTHS.
BELIEVE IN NOTHING, HOPE FOR EVERYTHING,
TRUST TO BE FREE, WISH THERE WAS
SOMEONE WHO COULD SAVE ME...FROM ME.
TO LOVE ONLY ME, TO HOLD ONLY ME.
TO SEE MY FAMILY AND SEE ONLY ME.
SELFISHNESS HAS BECOME MY ANONYMITY.
SO FOR NOW I'LL HOLD DEAR,
WHAT ONCE WAS SO CLEAR.
MY FUNERAL SONG IS NOW BECOME MY
LIFE'S MISSION...TO FREE THIS PAIN...I
HOLD SO DEEP INSIDE...ME...GOODBYE
IT CAME PEEPING HOT
PRELUDED WILDLY BY MAD WINDS FROM THE NORTH
WHICH BEAT AROUND THE EARTH,
SINGING THEIR FUNERAL SONG, BRINGING DEATH.
AND CATTLE STIR 'WAKE
FOR PASTURE FADES AWAY, KILLED BY THE QUAKE;
HEAR! WEEPING CHILDREN-
EMPTY BOWLS IN HAND AND ENERGIES DRAINED.
THE WINDS COME AGAIN,
CLOUDS OF DUST SIGHING AWAKE! OH CAIN!
"WHERE ARE GONE THE RAINS?"
I DIMLY HEARD IN BED, FEVERED HOT,IN PAIN.
Standing in a field filled with stones,
I heard the sound of a funeral song.
Hiding behind an old oak tree,
I peered through a Widow's web, just so I could see.
As they dropped her young groom in the dirt,
I thought I saw a tear, I know I saw a smirk.
She held a rose in her hand from the Devil's garden.
As she placed it on the ground, I begged her pardon.
I followed her bread crumbs down a deadly trail.
How long will you mourn before you lift that veil?
You can stop the facade and all that crying.
I'm all in, to be with you I'm just dying.
8/13/19
When fancy does he come within one's life,
A candle gently placed goes out so quick.
Of course this is his job, yet one so rife,
And pain he caused to some in just a flick.
A march where veils can barely hide their tears
That rains could not compare their dreary wails;
No song can show the loss that sums all fears,
No hollow branch to hold the noose that fails.
Beneath the branch where he would make his stand,
To rub the names of those who have long passed,
Who paid their debts in kind beneath the land—
To sow it with their flesh whose life have passed:
The rain is sly to time their deaths in gloom,
His song's machined—and he will be their groom.